


Just the Same But Brand New

by Vrunka



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Pre Re6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 12:31:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrunka/pseuds/Vrunka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris and Piers have a serious conversation that isn't serious in the least and is just an excuse to write smut with them. I'm tired of making summaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just the Same But Brand New

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this when I was half way through writing "Dream" and then I considered not posting it and now I'm like fuck it why not. So yeah. Some smut.

“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” Piers says, apropos nothing on a Sunday.

It takes Chris a minute, a long slow moment, to finish the bite of sandwich he had just taken. To chew completely. To contemplate exactly which ‘he’ Piers means. It could be any number of people in the BSAA, anyone from Quint to Josh to the coffee barista in the Starbucks in the lobby of the office to the kid who hands out the mail on Tuesdays. 

“I think I missed something,” he says, finally, cocking an eyebrow as he places his plate on the table and turns to regard Piers. The younger man is visibly stiff, arms crossed, lips pulled into a pout. It would be downright adorable, if Piers weren’t circling twenty-six. As it is, it comes off more childish than cute and Chris doesn’t have the patience for a guessing game. “I know a lot of men, kid,” and Chris doesn’t miss the way Piers’ eyes flash at the use of that word, “you’re gonna have to be a little bit more specific.”

Piers frowns harder, brow furrowing as he licks his lips. And it’s endearing as hell to Chris the way that Piers’ tongue stays tucked at the side of his mouth, ridiculous and pink, as Piers puts together what he wants to say. “That new kid. The rookie.”

Chris manages not to chuckle. He knows exactly who Piers means, but he isn’t going to let him off so easily. “Everyone’s a rookie at some point, and we just hauled in all those new recruits. I’m still not clear who--,”

“You know which one I mean, Captain,” Piers says, with no little amount of sass. In the field, Piers is respectful and composed; the perfect little soldier. The same cannot be said on weekends. On days when it is just he and Chris, Piers throws rank in Chris’ face like a taunt. “Dark hair. Jew nose. I haven’t bothered to ask his name. But I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

“His name is Finn Macauley. I don’t think he’s Jewish,” Chris says easily, amused even, grinning. “You should get to know him, he’s got potential.”

“I’m not interested. He’s a rookie. Half of them don’t last a month. No use in getting to know someone who is just gonna scrub out when we need him.”

“What’s he look at me like?” Chris asks, veering back to the original topic, bumping their knees together. Piers rolls his eyes, reciprocates the motion, moving his leg so their shins brush. Chris wonders if the action is unconscious, he knows the way that Piers bites his lips is; the slight hesitation and doubt clinging in the corners of his eyes. Over the past few months, Chris has come to know Piers better than Piers knows himself.

“He just.” Piers starts. Stops. He huffs a sigh, running his hands through his hair, endearing all over again and Chris is glad to have him. Is glad that Piers cares and that Piers is jealous over some newbie kid’s crush. “He looks at you like the sun shines out of your ass,” Piers grumbles. “Like you’re the best fucking commander ever.”

“And that bothers you?” Chris can’t help his teasing tone, the way his heart beats just a little bit faster when Piers mumbles again, blushing now. Aware of how childish and silly he must sound.

“I just don’t like it.”

“He’s got nothing on you, you know?”

“Oh shut up, Chris,” Piers snaps, pushing Chris’ shoulder with the flat of his palm, smiling over the motion. Chris catches his hand as he pulls back, uses it to tug Piers into him, forcing Piers to rest his full weight on Chris’ chest.

“I’m serious,” Chris says, fingers brushing Piers’ cheek, trailing down his neck. He nuzzles into Piers’ hair, breathing in Piers’ scent, reveling in it. Piers smells like fruity shampoo and gun metal, domestic and dangerous, contradicting and somehow completely natural. He brings his head back up, moving his hand to run his fingers through the strands, scratching lightly at Piers’ scalp. “I’m pretty happy with us.”

Piers’ amused expression falters, eyes widening and breath catching. Chris can trace the impact his words have, the unintentional way Piers shivers, how his pupils expand rapidly. It lasts only a second and then Piers is moving, sitting up to swing his one leg over Chris’ lap, straddling him. He swallows, bracing his hands on Chris’ shoulders, leaning forward to press their lips together. It’s hesitant and careful even though this is far from their first time, even though Piers was the one who initiated this whole thing in the first place. And Chris loves him for that. For the way Piers can be so innocent and young.

He settles his hands on Piers’ thighs, digs his thumbs into the in-seams of Piers’ jeans. Piers takes the hint, grips the sides of Chris’ head and deepens the kiss, opens his mouth to Chris. Hums quiet encouragements when Chris moves one of his hands to his hip, swiping his fingers under the hem of Piers’ t-shirt. Piers is already hard, Chris can feel it when he shifts in his lap, trying to get closer than they already are. Chris lets his hand drift higher, dragging his nails along the newly revealed skin. He likes the way it makes Piers squirm and whine, breaking the kiss to pant into Chris’ mouth. And this isn’t new, Piers has always been an open book, but Chris can’t get over it. How it makes his blood sing, how it makes him feel giddy and lightheaded and all those other cliché things people say love feels like.

The younger man shifts again, grinding down in Chris’ lap, grinning when Chris grips his leg harder, groaning under his breath. “Bedroom?” Piers asks, breathless, leaning forward to whisper in Chris’ ear, nipping the lobe.

“I’m not carrying your ass in there, kid. Remember last time?”

Piers chuckles, smiles. “I was the one who got dropped,” he says, leaning back. Stripping off his shirt and dropping it off to the side, “I don’t know what you’re complaining about, Captain.” He wiggles again, angling their crotches together, and even though they’re both still in pants it’s enough to spark heat down Chris’ spine. “But then again, I don’t feel like moving.” He grins, eyes bright and bottom lip caught between his teeth. “What do you say?”

“Out here is fine,” Chris says. “Anywhere is fine.”

Piers nods, backs up and stands to kick his jeans off. He is lithe and fragile, thinly muscled. His chest is hairless, he can’t seem to get beyond peach fuzz. More like a teenager than an adult. Chris remembers at times like this when Piers is naked in front of him, unashamed and unabashed, that it was Piers who came onto him. That it was Piers who came to him and begged to be let in.

“Come here,” he says, crooking a finger, not bothering with his own jeans yet. Piers grins again, moves back to Chris’ lap. His skin is warm and Chris’ hands shake as he places them on Piers’ legs, as he cranes his neck to kiss Piers on the mouth. Slow and gentle. The way Piers always does with him. Like he is something precious and breakable. Piers makes a noise, high in his throat, keening. Chris doesn’t draw it out any longer.

He drops his lips to Piers’ throat, worrying the flesh between his teeth, sucking lightly. It makes Piers groan, makes him shudder and clutch helplessly at the fabric of Chris’ shirt. Chris drinks in the sounds he makes, filing them away in the back of his mind, every whispered, panted instance of his name making him nip sharply, threatening to bruise. He presses his fingers to Piers’ mouth; loathe to lose the soundtrack, but impatient. There is hardly a beat before Piers has his lips wrapped around them, lavishing with his tongue. And it would be easier in the bedroom, there’s lube in the bedroom, but Chris doesn’t want to move, not now, not with Piers sucking on his fingers like they’re the best thing in the world, not with Piers’ warm weight so settled on his lap. He traces Piers’ Adam’s apple with his tongue, scrapes his teeth over it as it bobs with Piers’ breathing. In the morning, he will be able to trace the roadmap of his hickies across Piers’ skin. Across every inch of willing flesh.

Piers leans back, letting Chris’ fingers fall from his mouth, connected briefly by a thin string of saliva. Then he stretches forward again. Impatient also, apparently. Chris bites down on the juncture between Piers’ neck and his shoulder as he breaches Piers’ ass with one finger. He moves almost immediately to two, thrusting them sharply. He knows exactly how hard and fast Piers likes it, but it never hurts to be overly careful and preparation, in Chris’ mind, is always prudent.

The thought of hurting Piers is like a punch to the gut, makes Chris tilt his head back to look up into Piers’ face. To watch the varying degrees of arousal flicker across it. It never gets old, no matter how many times they do this, seeing Piers pant and groan, the way his eyebrows crease and his cheeks flush. His head is bowed forward, eyes closed to slits. His eyelashes are long and dark.

“Hurry up,” Piers mutters when Chris scissors his fingers, slow and steady, “I’m not going to break, Chris.”

“I know you won’t.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Chris doesn’t know the answer to that. This time is the same as all those other times, this time nothing is different. And yet it isn’t. This time everything is new. Piers’ hands shake as he unclips Chris’ belt; he’s doing it blind, his eyes are closed. Chris adds a third finger, Piers shudders in his arms. But his hands never stop. His lips brush Chris’ temple, his skin is smooth. The zipper clicks, down and down. Chris spreads his fingers one last time, pushing them deep. Piers clenches around him, lips parting as he sighs, breath warm against Chris’ skin. His short hair is damp with sweat; Chris grips it with his free hand, drags Piers down for another kiss. Moaning into it when Piers’ hands reach their destination, when he maneuvers Chris’ cock out of the tangle of pants and boxers.

Then there is no more time to think.

The world narrows down to that point of contact. Piers strokes him twice, down and up, down and up, smearing pre-come and then he is scooting closer, lowering himself down. It’s almost too dry, too hot and tight. It almost hurts. Chris groans again, unable to muster the strength to do anything more than pant against Piers’ mouth. Piers doesn’t seem to be in much better shape. His breathing is harsh, clutching Chris’ shoulder like a lifeline. There will be a bruise there tomorrow, Chris can already feel it, but the sensation is secondary to the feeling of his cock buried in Piers’ heat.

“Fuck,” Piers mutters, and though his face is too close to Chris’ for Chris to really judge his expression, it looks like Piers is smiling. “Chris.” He leans backward, arching his spine, and Chris is overloaded in sensation again, at how goddamn real everything feels. And then Piers is moving. Slowly at first, giving himself time to adjust. Giving Chris time too, though he could hardly know that.

The pace picks up steadily, Piers bouncing and groaning, lips hovering, never far from Chris’ as he spouts curses and mangled versions of Chris’ name. Chris is not as loud. He grips Piers’ hip, controlling his motions, keeping the pace steady, thrusting up into that welcoming heat when Piers growls, “Come on, Chris, fuck me,” into his mouth.

Chris complies, tightening his hold, fucking up into Piers as Piers lowers himself, creating a rhythm. It’s rough, at first, Chris’ socked feet keep slipping on the hardwood floor, making it hard to find leverage. But then he moves, turning both he and Piers so Piers’ back meets the cushions of the couch, flipping their positions. Piers doesn’t seem to mind, switches his hands to tangle his fingers in the hair at the nape of Chris’ neck, thighs spread. Mouth angled to talk dirty into Chris’ ear. Bent almost double.

“That’s right,” he pants, lips dragging across Chris’ cheek, meeting Chris thrust for thrust. “Just. Just like that.” He gasps, wordless syllables, just intonations and consonant sounds. His hand drops from Chris’ hair to his own neglected erection. It doesn’t take long. Chris feels the second that Piers’ orgasm hits. Knows the signs, by the way Piers keens, knees tightening, clasping Chris’ sides. He can tell from the way Piers’ back bends, curving like a bow, the way he seems to stop breathing and how everything gets tighter. Piers shudders, long and drawn out as he comes, spurt after spurt between their bodies. It drags Chris with it. The sight of watching Piers come undone is too much for him to handle. He pushes as deep as he can get, buries his face in Piers’ neck and comes.

“I love you,” Chris says, even though he swore to himself that he would never, ever say that to anyone ever again. 

After that there is only the sound of them breathing. Trying to put things back in order.

Piers runs his fingers through Chris’ hair. He is humming with each breath, tuneless little whispers.

“Did you hear me?” Chris asks.

“I did.” Piers is smiling. Chris can feel the turn of his lips, hear it in his voice. “I love you too. But you already knew that. Just like I did.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t have to say it. I already knew.” Piers swallows, his throat moves against Chris’ forehead. Bobbing slightly with his words. “Now come on, get off me already. I’m going to need a shower after that.”

Chris sits up, looks down at Piers. Childish Piers. So silly and young. So wise it hurts sometimes. Chris knows what it was now. Why it felt so different.

“You better not get any cum on my couch,” he admonishes, leaning in to press a kiss to Piers’ forehead. Loving the way Piers chuckles slightly, the hitch in his breathing. How the brown, green of his irises are eaten completely by his pupils. Chris loves all of it. And for once, his comfortable with it.

“Fuck you. It’s your cum, Captain,” Piers says, cheeky, standing once they’ve detangled their limbs. He pads off toward the bathroom, naked. There is a faint impression of Chris’ zipper along the back of his thigh. Chris smiles to himself. Piers has no shame. Never has. And who needs it? There’s no shame in love. “Better hurry up, old man,” floats over the sound of the shower to him and Chris smiles again. Stands and heads off toward the bathroom. Shameless and happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah. So there. It is what it is. Thanks for reading or whatever! :D


End file.
